


If a Person Should Ever Like a Person . . .

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-27
Updated: 2010-09-27
Packaged: 2017-10-12 20:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To fill this prompt: When Uhura needs to get laid, she doesn't mess around with the immature twenty-somethings at the academy. She likes an older man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If a Person Should Ever Like a Person . . .

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](http://community.livejournal.com/where_no_woman/profile)[**where_no_woman**](http://community.livejournal.com/where_no_woman/) [Uhura is Awesome](http://community.livejournal.com/where_no_woman/tag/challenge%3A%20uhura%20fest) festival. 'Cause she just _is_. Title from "[Harvester of Hearts](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wwUXADVpBUM)," by Rufus Wainwright.

There were, Nyota Uhura had noticed right away, a good deal of invisible divisions among those at Starfleet Academy. The most obvious one was the divide between instructors and cadets, but the more subtle ones—such as between those who had come in with degrees from other institutions or who had worked in the field for a year or more, and those who were fresh out of secondary school—those intrigued her more. She especially loved picking out the cadets who were human but who had grown up off-planet. Their blasé attitude towards the idea of faster-than-light travel was easy to see, if one looked, and they were not surprised by non-humans nearly as much.

Nyota could pick out a diplo-brat from fifty meters—most of them, even including her half-Vulcan language instructor, had an air of worldliness, even if their parent was stationed at Tranquility Base or somewhere similar. She could also pick out Terrans who had grown up in more isolated towns; some of them gawked openly at the non-humans at the Academy, and the rest covertly.

Of course, some of those non-humans were worth gawking at; Nyota's own roommate, with whom she had already signed up to room again next year, was, after all, a stunningly gorgeous redhead. Also green. Gaila would have attracted attention even were she not Orion. Nyota was faintly glad that Gaila wasn't with the group in Riverside, ostensibly there to help Captain Pike wrangle a group of new recruits but mostly to get away from the dreary San Francisco summer and to lust after the half-completed _Enterprise_. It didn't _necessarily_ mean she was the most striking woman in the group, but . . . well, she _was_.

And as she leaned over to line up her last shot in the round of pool in the side room at the Riverside, she felt the eyes of nearly everyone in the room on her, including (she didn't even need to check) the current object of her attentions and her competitor in this round. "Eight ball, corner pocket," she said, pointing with the cue, and struck. The cue ball hit the eight ball perfectly—and unfortunately followed the eight ball into the pocket. A collective groan went through the room, and she held out a hand. "Scratch. You win, Captain Pike."

He took her hand, pressing it briefly, and smiled. Nyota's brain went on hold temporarily, and when he told her what drink he wanted as her forfeit, she didn't quite hear. She knew she'd remember it once she looked at the drink menu at the bar, though. "Does anyone else want anything while I'm up?" she asked, and immediately got four or five other offers. "Okay, okay; I can only hold so much."

Grinning, her hair swinging loose down her back, she strode to the other end of the bar, greeted some fellow cadets, placed the drink order—right, Captain Pike had asked for a Cardassian Sunrise—and was almost immediately accosted by a townie.

It didn't end well.

When Captain Pike ordered all the cadets and future cadets outside, she scrambled to obey, as did everyone else. As he reamed them out for conduct unbecoming future officers, no matter _who_ had started the bar fight, Nyota kept her face straight. Inside, though, even while contemplating the fact that yes, she'd been involved in a bar fight and no, she probably shouldn't have been, and yes, her possible future commanding officer was disciplining her and she probably should be paying attention, she was at least partially thinking how _hot_ Captain Pike was while he was being stern and authoritative.

Also about the plastic room-card he'd slipped into her hand after the game.

It hadn't been his idea; she'd spent all semester explaining and demonstrating to him that she wasn't a fresh-faced just-out-of-secondary-school cadet. She already had finished a four-year undergraduate degree in comparative xenolinguistics at the University of Nairobi before she even applied to the Academy. She'd checked the regulations thoroughly and there were no rules _directly_ banning relationships between consenting adults, provided that he wasn't in any way responsible for her grades. Which he wasn't and had never been; he mostly taught tactics classes to command cadets and she was on the operations-communications track.

When he'd made one last desperate attempt to dissuade her, pointing to the large number of attractive male (and female) cadets closer to her age, she'd smiled and shook her head. "What makes you think I'd mess around with those immature teenagers and twenty-somethings?"

He'd replied, without batting an eye, "What makes you think _I_ would?"

She'd laughed, delightedly, before replying. "You think I'm like them?" She'd indicated the quad outside his office window with her chin, where a couple of young male cadets were, literally and bizarrely, playing leapfrog.

Captain Pike watched them for a moment before turning back to her, his face still. "No. No, you are not." In a completely different tone, he'd asked if she would consider being part of the group of cadets going to Riverside Shipyard to meet up with the new recruits, and she'd said yes immediately.

However, after he'd dismissed them from their line with exhortations to go immediately to their rooms and not to leave until morning, her roommate for the trip—a Terran named Shively—asked, "Hey, um, Uhura, can I ask you a favor?"

Nyota wasn't stupid; she knew that part of the reason that so many cadets wanted to go on the trip was that the hotel was prime opportunity for bed-hopping without worrying about electronic curfew control. "Don't worry, Shively, I'll find somewhere else to be."

"I kind of thought you might," Shively said, raising an eyebrow before she clapped Nyota on the shoulder with a grin. "Thanks, Uhura. I owe you one."

As they rarely came into contact at the Academy, Nyota figured she'd never actually collect on that favor, but she smiled anyway.

She dawdled in the public bathroom in the lobby of the hotel for a few minutes, until most of the cadets had dispersed, and then made her way to the room whose number was on the card, let herself in, ordered the lights to thirty percent, and closed the door behind her. Captain Pike had gone to speak to the bar owner about restitution for damages, so she was alone for the moment.

Pike had left a small duffel bag on the bed and a toothbrush next to the sink, but otherwise the room was undisturbed. As much as she wanted to explore, there was probably nothing to discover in the room, so she sat on the corner of the bed and waited.

When he didn't appear after five or ten minutes, she stretched out on the bed, pulling her boots off first and hanging her feet off the end of the bed. She stared at the ceiling and its slightly off-colored stains, poorly hidden by a recent coat of paint, conjugating Andorian verbs until she slid into a light doze.

The door opened, some time later, and Nyota came fully awake in an instant, sitting up, bare feet on the floor. "I'd have thought you would have given up by now," came Captain Pike's quiet baritone from near the door.

"No," she said, narrowly resisting tacking on the 'sir.' "What time is it?"

"Late enough that I've almost given up on getting any sleep," he said, moving into the room. His eyes flicked to her legs and back to her face. "Although I have to apologize, Cadet Uhura. I understand that you could very well press charges against the young man for assault."

What? Oh—when he'd grabbed her breasts. "It was an accident," she said, "and I'm never going to see him again anyway." She shrugged, and crossed her ankles, solely to get his attention.

It worked; Captain Pike's gaze lowered again, deliberately, before he sat down on the edge of the bed next to her and said, "Did you happen to catch his name?"

"Jim Kirk," she said promptly.

"And where are we?"

"Riverside, Iowa—oh." And it suddenly clicked, as to why he looked vaguely familiar and why his name sounded familiar. "He's the _Kelvin_ Baby."

"Well, not so much a baby," Pike said with a half-smile. "As of January, he's twenty-two."

"He even _looks_ like the holos of George Kirk," Nyota said, a note of wonder in her voice.

"Looks like Winona, too," he said, and Nyota was reminded of the fact that he probably had known the elder Kirks. "Anyway, it's possible that I dared him to join Starfleet. We'll see if he takes the bait."

She blinked. "Oh. Well, if he shows up, maybe you can send him to sensitivity training or something."

Captain Pike laughed. "Not a bad idea." He shifted his weight, pulled off one boot and then the other. "Are we done talking about Jim Kirk?" he asked.

"Do you want to be?" she asked, with a slow smile.

He shrugged, with another half-smile. "Cute kid, but not my type."

"Not mine, either," Nyota said, folding her legs under her and turning towards him.

"Oh?" he asked. "And what is your type, Nyota Uhura?" He raised both eyebrows.

"Maybe a little older," she said. "Definitely a little smarter. Hopefully not too tired."

"I don't think I'm too tired," Pike said, visibly amused. "Definitely older, probably smarter, and significantly less prone to getting my ass kicked in bar fights, if that's what you mean."

"Good," she breathed, and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his and unhooking the collar of his charcoal uniform jacket at the same time.

He returned the kiss, sliding his lips against hers while pulling her uniform turtleneck up slightly and sliding his hands against her waist. "Before we go any farther," he murmured in her ear, "let the record show that I am neither your advisor nor your instructor."

"And I am here and consenting of my own free will," Nyota agreed.

"I'd offer you my medical records, but I'm clean and up-to-date on everything relevant."

How on earth could he make a discussion about STIs and birth control sound sexy? Clearly, it was his voice. "So am I," she said, nibbling his earlobe and unfastening his jacket. Sliding her hands under it, she pushed the heavy fabric off his shoulders. He removed his hands from her waist, disappointing her momentarily with the loss of the heat, and pulled off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor.

Suddenly, he stood. She looked up at him, confused. "Stretch out," he said.

"Why?" she asked, even as she swung her legs out from under her.

He smiled, just as suddenly as he'd stood. "Because your legs are too lovely to keep them hidden under you."

Nyota returned the smile and lay down, legs straight, arms above her head against the headboard. The look on his face was well worth any possible self-consciousness; he looked her over, fingers to toes, for a long minute, before standing at the foot of the bed and placing his hands on the tops of her feet. Slowly, so slowly, he slid his hands up her legs, past her ankles, over her shins and knees, along the tops of her thighs until he reached the bottom of her skirt. His eyes met hers for a moment, searching, and she nodded. His hands continued up and under her skirt—he had a knee on the bed by then—and, fingers looping in the top of her underwear—skimpy black lace, decidedly non-regulation—pulled it back down by the same path, fingertips trailing hot lines on her skin.

"For me?" he asked, holding them up and raising an eyebrow.

"No," she said. "For me. But if you like them, so much the better."

"Very much," he said, setting them aside. He placed his hands on her feet again and slid them back up her legs, this time following with his body and, once he reached her skirt hem, ducking his head down to place a kiss on one thigh.

Nyota arched her back slightly, dropping her head back, and spread her thighs encouragingly, as much as she could with the restriction of the skirt. Pike—Christopher? Chris? She wasn't sure.—pushed the skirt up until it was bunched around her waist and cupped her hips. He kissed the hollow of one hip, now revealed, and across to the other hip while he pressed her thighs farther apart and settled himself between.

There was something strange—and strangely erotic—about his head between her legs while she was still fully dressed from the waist up, and he fully dressed except for his shoes. The poly-wool of his uniform trousers scratched against her calves and ankles; the smooth coolness of his undershirt contrasted with the heat of his hands and mouth against her.

He was, of course, highly skilled; both in sheer technique of the curl of his tongue against her clit and his ability to read every sigh, every clench of her body and adjust. She wasn't surprised by any stretch of the imagination; he did everything else well, after all. He was Starfleet's most successful recruiter, and she strongly suspected he could _talk_ her into an orgasm. He'd been the youngest captain ever, some twenty years prior and, it appeared to be universally acknowledged, he'd only gotten _better_ with age.

Soon, though, she lost her ability to think about exactly how _good_ Captain Christopher Pike was with his mouth and could only _feel_. She lowered her hands to the mattress and dug her fingers into the bedspread. The orgasm started low in her abdomen, tightening her muscles, sparking over her nerves and then exploding out from her clit to the ends of her body, curling her toes and sending her breath out in a _whoosh_.

When the stars cleared from her eyes, she raised her head, and he crawled up the bed to lay beside her, on his right side, left hand still on her thigh. "It's Chris," he said, with a one-sided grin, "although if you'd like to keep calling me Captain Pike, that's fine, too."

Nyota flushed, although she knew that between the low light and her complexion he wouldn't be able to tell. She hadn't realized that she'd called out his name, or, as it were, his title and surname. The best way to combat embarrassment was with boldness, though, so she said, "You're wearing too much clothing, Chris."

"Oh, am I?" he said, but sat up and moved to remove his shirt.

"Oh, no," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "You can do better than that."

He raised both eyebrows at that. She jerked her head to the right, indicating the floor on the other side of the bed. His eyebrows climbed higher, but she held his gaze. "I had better be getting something out of this," he said, as he rolled over her and off the bed smoothly.

"You are," she said. "You're getting _laid_."

Pike—Chris—paused, his arms crossed in front of him, hands on his hem, an inch or so of taut abdomen showing. "You do have a point," he said, and Nyota laughed.

He disposed of his clothes quickly but elegantly, with a sort of off-handed confidence that she found arousing—but then again, nearly everything he did was arousing. She watched him turn to toss his clothing at the chair, and then scooted to her left. When he turned back, she let her gaze travel from his feet to his head, lingering at the obvious places—which were _entirely_ worth lingering over, in her opinion—and ended with a quirk of her lips, patting the bed next to her.

"Do I have your approval?" he asked as he stretched out on the bed, all lean muscle covered in a layer of silvering hair.

There was no doubt in her mind that he knew how he affected her, so she just smiled, pushed him onto his back, and straddled him, lining them up and grinding her hips down until he gasped. Pulling the neck of her uniform turtleneck open, she stripped the garment off and threw it in an arc to hang off the side of the chair. Her bra was also black and lacy, matching the underwear, and she waited until his eyes raised back to her face. "Very nice," he said. "May I?"

She nodded and leaned over, and he reached up, flicked open the catch between her breasts, and brushed the cups off her breasts. Shrugging, her arms behind her, the bra fell off, onto his legs; she swept it to the floor as he cupped her breasts and circled her nipples with his thumbs.

She would not give him the satisfaction of her reaction, not yet, so she leaned over and stroked his chest with her hands, scratching lightly through his chest hair, rolling her hips against his in a slow motion. His eyes closed languorously, and his hands slid from her breasts to her waist, just over the bunched-up skirt, encouraging her to keep moving with subtle pressure. Leaning still farther, she traced his collarbone with tongue and lips and just the barest edge of teeth.

He was sensitive on the outer edge, just where it met his shoulder; she felt his erection jump under her as he sighed her name. She bit the place where his shoulder met his neck, hard enough to leave a mark for a few minutes at least, and he shuddered as she tongued the indentations left by her teeth.

His hands traveled up her back, slowly, and buried themselves in her hair as she left a matching mark on the other side of his neck. She extended one leg back, slowly, and then the other, and trailed a line of kisses down his chest as she pulled back onto her heels again. He groaned, holding on to her shoulders, as she licked a circle around his navel and then sucked, delicately, at the head of his cock, tasting a mix of their flavors.

Once she had him shaking beneath her mouth and hands, she slithered back up the bed to press her lips to his. He took her head in his hands and explored her mouth with his tongue until she chased it back inside his own mouth, following with her own exploration. Arching her back, she shifted her hips until he rested in just the right spot, and then slowly, breaking the kiss only when she had to, she sat up, seating him inside her.

Chris was—well, all right, she'd admit it inside her own head—bigger than she'd expected, even from seeing it, at least at this angle, and she struggled not to let it show on her face. She did take a couple of deep breaths, though, letting herself adjust, and his eyes dropped to her breasts briefly. When they returned to her eyes, though, his face held just a hint of smugness, perhaps, around his mouth and eyes, and she knew she hadn't kept her poker face as well as she'd wanted. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Oh, you," she said, amusement coloring her tones. "Hands on the headboard."

"Sure you don't want them on you?"

"Yes," she said, and rose up, just a little, before sinking back down and tightening deliberately. He gasped, and his hands shot to the top of the bed, rotating to cling to the headboard.

She rose up again and lowered, a slightly different angle—no, not quite what she was looking for. Leaning forward slightly, her weight in front of her heels, she tried again, and— _there_. That was it, at least for now. It wasn't the most graceful position; if he'd been less smug, she'd have let him hold her hands to take some of her weight, but she figured her quads could take it for a little bit, at least. With the way he was watching her and the feel of him, hot and heavy inside her, it wouldn't take too much more than a little bit, anyway.

Cupping her breasts, she set a steady pace with her hips and watched his face. Even through the shadows, she saw him lick his lips as he watched her hands, muscles in his arms flexing with some sort of effort—probably not to move his hands. She rolled her nipples between her thumbs and forefingers, and moaned as the pressure built. One hand dropped between her legs, and she rubbed quickly at her clit, tensing around him involuntarily as with just the right motion and movement—she— _there_. "Ah!" she cried out, for the second time. " _Chris_."

He caught her as she fell, arms around her, lips against hers briefly and then by her ear. "You're done already? Because I'm just getting started."

She whimpered against his shoulder.

"Sit up," he said, "if you can?"

She raised herself a few inches, and he lowered the ridiculously long zipper at the back of her skirt, which left it wide enough to slide over her head. After he removed the skirt, she settled back against his chest, enjoying for the moment the complete skin-on-skin contact.

"Arms in," he said, "knees as tight as you can."

She nodded, pulling her arms in between their chests and pressing her knees against his hips, even though she barely had any strength. He rolled them over carefully, keeping most of his weight off of her. When she was flat on her back, looking up at him, mind still somewhat hazy, he kissed her nose and said, "Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?"

She nodded again, and he smiled as he withdrew, slowly, and thrust in again, no faster. Her mouth opened in a quiet gasp—the angle was different, so of course it _felt_ different, and her second orgasm had left her even more sensitive. He seemed to know that, though, and kept slow and steady until her writhing became less involuntary and she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Nyota arched into his mouth as he bent his head and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, tonguing it with the same circling motion he'd used on her clit. He chuckled against her skin and increased his speed, not much, but noticeably. She explored his biceps, shoulders and upper back before burying her hands in his hair; he responded by lowering to his forearms and cupping her shoulders, licking the sweat that pooled in the hollow of her throat.

The new angle sent parts of him grinding up against different parts of her, and she gasped again. "Good?" he asked, swiveling his hips.

"Yes!" she said, panting. She pulled his head down to hers and took his lips again, licking into his mouth and tasting him for all she was worth. He re-angled his hips again after a couple minutes, leaning his weight into his right side, his left hand finding her clit and, with only a few strokes, sending her over the edge again with another cry.

The next few minutes—or maybe many minutes—were a blur; at some point he pushed up into a plank position again and thrust deeply, and she moaned, every inch of her body on fire. "I'm close," he said, voice ragged above her.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, yes, _yes_." She dug her fingernails, short and sensible but long enough to be felt, into his back, just between his shoulder blades, and he groaned deeply, calling out her name, and spilled himself into her, shuddering.

He collapsed down onto her, panting, careful not to put his full weight on her. She wrapped her arms around him and tried to recollect her thoughts. After a couple minutes, he withdrew from her, carefully, and she gasped, mostly in pleasure. She was _definitely_ going to be sore in the morning.

"Do I need to apologize?" Chris asked, eyes searching her face as he curled around her, on his side.

"No, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "That was _wonderful_."

"Thank you," he said, almost solemn. "What does 'sasa' mean? Also 'tafadhali' and 'mzuri?'"

"Um," she said, flushing again. "Now, please, good."

"In Swahili?"

She nodded.

"Should I be proud that I made you slip into your mother tongue?" he asked, and this time he didn't even try to hide the smug look.

Nyota rolled her eyes, but grinned.

"We should probably get under the covers," he said, a moment or two later.

"Probably," she agreed.

"And it might not be a bad idea to mop up some of this mess."

"Mm-hm," she said, and yawned. She didn't move, though, and neither did he; after a minute, though, she reached out, found the edge of the bedspread, and flipped it over them. She wriggled her hips until she was as close to him as she could get and felt him twitch half-heartedly under her.

"Do you think you'd come on another one of these recruiting trips?" he murmured in her ear.

"Only if Jim Kirk isn't involved," she said, and felt him laugh behind her.


End file.
